Let Me Lie
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: "Let's play with your mind, trickster. See how you enjoy it." A test of my endurance and creativity. [Eventually going to be] 100 drabbles for Loki. All of a variety. Rated T because of relatively dark (depressing/tragic) content of a majority of the drabbles.
1. Emotions

There were five thousand sensations assailing him at once. Taunting him, jeering, ridiculing, mocking, scolding, berating, hissing, despising.

And then one.

Horror.

What had been his final words to her?

"You are not." He whispered them to himself in the absolute stillness surrounding him as he stood to his feet and struggled to breathe properly.

He gazed out of his cell but could see nothing. His face bore no expression, but from within his soul begged pitifully. Suddenly, something snapped, and the horror was replaced with loathing for himself.

He was a fool.

She _was_ his mother, and had always loved him in spite of his grievous faults.

He was _wrong._

She had been _right._

He wanted her back in his cell, to beg forgiveness.

She could not be dead.

He longed to die in her place. He _would have_ if given the chance.

She was gone, to nevermore return.

He was utterly lost. There was nothing forcing him to grasp onto that faintly flickering light within his soul.

He screamed, and did not care if all the Realms could hear his anguish.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, this is what happens when you stay up till 4 in the morning and listen to " _Into Eternity_ " from _Thor: The Dark World_. I have no idea why I wrote this, but I did. Turns out, Loki's darkness really appeals to me, haha. Please tell me what you think and if I'm worthy enough to write more drabbles of similar types! (This one is called "Emotions", which might be the center of a couple of the drabbles.) **

**WH**


	2. Adoration

Cheers from the multitudes when the hero returns home victorious.

Clamoring to touch him or her whom they hold above all others; even if it is only the train of their cape or the hem of their clothes their longing fingers brush for a mere instant.

Gifts bestowed while willingly bowing low.

Kneeling gladly because it is a pleasure to serve this leader whom they love with such a burning fire.

Everything I cannot have. Everything I cannot force into being. I do not know why I am ignored and others looked to so highly. Why must I drive them down when _He_ can simply walk by and they fall to their knees with heads bowed, no sounds of protest from their throats?

Why am I always questioned and _He_ given freedom to do what _He_ pleases?

I don't _understand_. How does one earn adoration without even a little bit of fear?


	3. Eternity

The word used to describe the endless strain of time. A word used to describe the lifespan of an immortal. Of deities. It does not seem to be so very meaningful, and yet it holds a surprising weight when spoken. It is a shackle, however. Seeming like some wonderful blessing until you are forced to inhabit it without a foreseeable end. Binding, lasting, unbreakable.

Eternity.

It is better to be dead and know nothing after than to exist forever and face every destruction that was and is to come. Eternal imprisonment. Eternal judgement. Eternal revile. Eternal vengeance.

Ah, yes. Eternal vengeance. That one belongs to me. It is mine, though some try to claim it. I crave it most. Without my rage, my hate, my thirst for revenge, I have nothing but magic tricks and envy. I shall be left groveling on the floor if I do not desire Eternal vengeance. I will not be defeated, for if I am, I will be for eternity. And eternity never ends.

Truly, a heavier word I have not heard.


	4. Content

She always listened to him when he felt ignored or forgotten. She never dismissed his interests in books and parchment and pens. When everyone else laughed at the ink and parchment she gave him, thinking it a foolish gift for a warrior and prince of Asgard, he was content. As long as she knew him as he truly was, he could survive the taunts and the teasing and the insults well enough.

She never told him to stop asking how things worked, or lifted her hand to silence his childish queries. Out of everything he faced, he was content knowing that in the end, she would be there; berating him or praising him. Everything was irrelevant in the face of her love. Surviving so that he might see her again, it was his most important task. She alone was the one who mattered.

The anguish in her eyes when he returned was a small yet disconcerting price to pay, though he wouldn't admit such things even to himself. Standing facing Odin in all the aging king's unequivocal wrath with only a smirk and quick tongue as weapons was possible because he knew, somehow, that she was there. It was enough, and he was content. But he would never admit it.


	5. End

When it's the end, and you're alone, you have plenty of time to dwell on everything in an endless arch. All flowing into one; swirling again and again before your mind. Thoughts tangled and interwoven in complicated patterns of different complexity. It is a difficult thing to undergo, being forced to relive every choice you have ever made and every flaw you ever owned to. There is no room for pride, for arrogance, for a sense of self-right. Just yourself in all your inglorious flaws.

 _ **(simply because I think it strange how Loki "died" saying what he did. If you know you're going to die, you don't act like that. It's out of character even for a liar such as himself.)**_


	6. Cold

He had never dwelt upon it much, but there were many definitions of the word. Cold with fear, cold with hate, cold with anguish, cold with bitterness, and cold when one stands out alone in the elements.

He'd never thought it possible to feel all of them at once, but he supposed there was a time in one's life for everything.

Standing in the blue and grey eternal dusk of Jotunheim that day, he felt cold.

Every word he had ever uttered in hate to the Frost Giants tore at him, mocking cruelly. It was irony at its height, and he had never been the aim of such a bitter joke in all his life. Nothing ever done to him was as cruel as this.

The wind struck his face, and he felt its cold touch wash over him. He was too cold, he thought as he felt fear wrap around him, alarmingly icy. Thor's words returned.

"No." But his voice was lost in the frost rooting him where he stood; he couldn't speak.

It was too cold.

He felt numb.

So very cold, so very dark.


	7. Shadow

A dark projection from the angle of light shining along a wall or some obstacle blocking its path.

But when the light fades; when darkness has fallen, is it because the shadow has won, or is it merely absence of light? Has the shadow consumed or been consumed? I once believed that if I could conquer that great light I could at last stand in my own right; without support from it.

But to be a shadow . . . is it truly so terrible, I wonder now? Is it wrong to define the light and the things the light shines upon? Is it so reprehensible to give depth and definition. . .

I do not know. I have become a shadow of myself, and know this is true danger; when the darkness encroaches upon the light; when the light gives out because of obstructions blocking its path. . . When the shadow is consumed.

For darkness and shadow are alike, but they are not the same. To be surrounded in darkness is to be lost.

Am I lost? I no longer know . . . I feel certain I am not, but then I remember a shadow, and the marvelous shade it resided under; that it defined. Was it truly so terrible to be definition to something unchanging and sure.

I am a shadow, consumed by night.


	8. Alone

Alone is a defense. Alone is a force to be reckoned with; it does not matter how many companions you attempt to surround yourself with, in the end alone claims us all. For it is only you and your thoughts to keep you company. Alone is a schemer's tool; it pushes people away so that we cannot feel their disappointment so fiercely. Alone is a disease and it is destruction, for your mind will destroy you with its deceptions and its plans.


	9. Melody

He heard a lovely melody playing round and round his head; it whispered of success and one he dearly wished be dead.

He heard a lovely melody humming in his ear; it told him all he could imagine until it became all that he could hear.

He heard a lovely melody whispering in the night; it promised him that all the wrongs could right.

He heard a lovely melody chanting through the dark; his soul trembled with the devil's wicked spark.

He heard a deceptive melody in the beating of his heart; how could he have suspected it would rip his soul apart?


	10. Blood

It did not run through his veins, and fear took hold before coldness frosted over it.

It was not his; it had never been his. Now he understood his cunning, his cleverness, his deception. It was not inherited from any in this royal family, but rather from another.

It was no longer something binding him from putting a long-ago planned scheme into play.

He was free, because his blood was bluer than the ocean, and far colder than the ice that encrusted the banks of a stream in winter.

He thrilled and he was afraid, because he was alone. Child of a monster with the soul of an Asgardian.

But now see what was his to grasp and manipulate because he was no longer bound by ties of blood and brotherhood.

Restrained by one, freed by another.

* * *

 **A/N: I made this darker than my other drabbles. This is Loki utterly twisted and villainous; which is I think more canon. . . ?**


	11. Ice

She had Thor by the neck, dagger like a spine in her other hand, needle-tip pressed against the center of his chest. Something in him rankled, and he bared his teeth in a wolf's chilling death grin. It came without warning, creeping up from cool fingertips, the ice. Ice like fire, like metal, like a dagger. He glanced at it as he advanced on silent feet.

He played for nine sides and none at once; he picked what he favored and left when it displeased him. He hated and spat and scorned and cheated-he lied as he laughed and he loved when it ached and he realized too late. He was mischief and magic, and he snarled low in his throat as Hela spoke of being the goddess of death, mocking Banner and his cheap emerald wrath.

"No." He grinned as he grabbed her by the arm, the neck, as his frozen blade flashed and prismed like crystal in the light of the fires roaring beyond the balcony. His facade of pale skin and raven tangles fell away for an instant as his weapon sank into soft flesh and hard bone, piercing and relentless. _"I'm_ the monster."

Wide eyes stared as death claimed Death, and the sparks of midnight in Hela's dark eyes faded and her black magic fell silent. He let her fall to blood-streaked tiles, and the shards of ice round his fingers melted to drip like demented blood-rain on her pale skin. He looked up from the sight to the Prince of Asgard, who was now her king.

He smiled, faint, fleeting; clever and harmless, both at once. Laughter and something else flashed in his eyes; a dark mirth, a wicked cunning. "I was not going to let her kill you like a dog."

Thor chuckled, weak and uncertain, as he stood to full height, tattered scarlet cape falling around his shoulders and brushing his dirty arms. Words seemed worthless and time moved at a lackluster pace.

He smirked, a sound of amusement escaping him as he turned, and his dark hair swung over his shoulder, magic restoring broken daggers he held and bringing what weapons he had lost, back.

"This is a fine mess to clean."

He was mischief and magic, and fought on nine sides and for none at all. He laughed when others cried and slipped through space and time. He cheated and lied and loved too late; he felt nothing at all, but could not hate. He was clever and foolish and vengeful at once. He smiled at silence and spoke crafty words- he was Loki, and one couldn't quite trust him but nor could they lose him.


End file.
